


Reconciliation

by orphan_account



Series: Holy Retribution (Or How Jean Kirstein found his faith) [1]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Small Town, Atheist Jean, Choir Boy Marco, Gen, Underage Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-03 04:35:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2838128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean Kirstein wasn't ever a strong believer in a higher power, or even God. However happens to find his faith in something after practically tumbling into the lap of Marco.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reconciliation

**Author's Note:**

> So I was watching a tyler perry film with Madea right
> 
> and uh
> 
> I was hit with the urge to write a choir boy Marco so

He was no clean cut, pretty little nice boy like his parents wanted. He was brash. He was loud. He was surly, uncouth, and angry. Anger was his strong suit. Anger was something he knew well, like an old friend, like the same pair of well worn jeans, filled with holes. Jean used his anger to refuse every bit of the clean cut simple same-devout-over-religious-lifestyle-as-everyone-else that his parents seemed eager to shove down his throat every chance they got. They couldn't understand quite why he didn't have the same values, merely tilting their heads and hoping that if they beat the same tired verses into his head maybe he would change. Jean avoided those confrontations like the plague, hoping they'd realize that after seventeen years of conformity, he still wasn't going to budge. However sneaking out of the bathroom window was only going to hold out so long and eventually they'd catch on to the fact he shouldn't be locked in the bathroom for that long but he would take his chances. With scuffed up knees and a bad attitude, he sauntered downtown, far from the quaint little white picket fenced two story Tudor his overbearing parents adored to death, finding that maybe the winter cold could clear his head and the biting edge of his lingering anger. Unfortunately for him, there wasn't much to do, or anywhere to hide really, in a small town like this. The only place he ever could clear his head was on the roof of the church ironically enough. His feet crunched over the dead and dying grass, bits of frost seeping through his ratty soles, reminding him that no matter how much he loved his Vans, he had to replace them with squeaky clean new ones. Just the thought made Jean grimace as he circled around the back of the rather weathered and worn building. For being the town's center, it wasn't as pristine as anything else. Most of that was due to the fact it was abandoned for thirty some odd years or some shit like that. His eyes searched the back of the building with vigor, finding a foothold on the window ledge, clinging to the yellowing gutters in an effort to haul himself up to the roof. He scraped his fingers over the rough gravel shingles, spitting every foul curse he knew the entire way. Taking a moment to wheeze from exertion, he pushed up off his knees, staring at the perfect view of their tiny little shit hole town, all of its flaws and cracks hiding behind superficial veils. He sat right behind the massive steeple, not daring to climb the narrow tower today. He wasn't that much of an idiot to risk himself. But with his back to the cold stone pressed against all the wrong places, he examined the shadow the steeple cast, sneering as he dug out a pack of cigarettes. No one knew but Connie. And Sasha. And he had to threaten to beat them to a pulp if they so much as squeaked about it. Though neither of them were their parents ideal pristine children either. They didn't protest or seven bat an eyelash.. They just nodded and asked if they could try too. Oddly enough, it was behind the old barn on the edge of Sasha’s property. Sasha had nearly choked on the smoke and Connie had simply made one hell of a funny face, one that was twisted with disgust. The memory tugged a wry grin off his face, the snap of his lighter and the crisp burn of the flames pulling a strange sense of nostalgia out of him. Tipping his head back and releasing a spiraling coil of smoke into the air, he parted his lips on a dry chuckle. His mom tried setting him up with Sasha once. Said she was a sweet girl. "Too bad she ain't whatcha thought ma." He muttered to the shadows keeping him company. She was loud, probably louder than him. She swore like a sailor and had already given herself to Connie. Sweet girl? Nah, more like a broken and ruined girl hiding behind false pretenses and a fragile, smiley, boisterous facade scratching at the surface for a way out. She always said she was gonna run away with Connie one of these days. The idea of gettin' out was appealing, just the town alone gave Jean claustrophobia. A car pulling over the gravel and grass tugged his attention down, his head craned around the steeple, cigarette perched neatly between his thin lips. A family stepped out of the car, all of them sporting the same dark curly hair, their voices cutting crisply through the sharp winter cold. Jean picked up bits of English, sprinkled among another language, Spanish perhaps? He flattened back against the steeple as their voices grew louder, the distinct jingle of keys and the creaky old doors reaching him. They grew muffled, and then quiet as the door shut behind them before a loud unholy squeaking ruptured the momentary peace. He had to clap a hand over his lips, stifling an equally unholy noise and bout of curses on the tip of his bitten tongue as the voices floated in a sing song manner through the air once more. Must be a window they opened then. Jean relaxed, trying not to let his leg jiggle nervously as he closed his eyes. Whatever, they're probably just nobodies. That's all. Their melodic chatter filled his ears for a solid fifteen minutes before he registered that they weren't just _talking_ anymore. He leaned forward, arm resting on his folded knee as he flicked the burning embers off the butt of his nicotine laced addiction, really listening to the conversation below him. A deep voice kept interjecting, muttering something far too quickly for him to catch but from the groans that followed, it couldn’t have been anything but bad. His brow furrowed as he moved, trying to keep his balance as his leg had fallen asleep. Cigarette pinched firmly between his teeth, he shimmied closer to the window, lowering himself to his stomach to hear better. He could never not admit that he was a tiny bit curious about the strange family and their voices wafting through the air, beckoning him closer. With a white knuckled grip on the edge of the roof, he could make out parts of whatever they were singing.

_“Ave Maria gratia plena, Maria gratia plena….. .Ave ave Dominus. Dominus te-cum...in mulieribus… -enedictus. Et benedictus fructus ventris,Ventris tui Iesus. Ave Maria...”_ Jean found himself exhaling, eyes closing from the soothing nature of the voices. Never in his life had anything sounded quite so lovely, especially the rich, silky tenor. Whoever he was had some real talent, his voice almost overpowering to the women singing with him. But it worked rather well, all of them together. In fact a bit _too_ well seeing as his body was pitching forward due to the incline of the roof, a cacophony of curses ringing through the air as he fell into the bushes lining the side of the church. Branches and leaves scratched and tore at him, not exactly softening his landing, but he hadn’t fallen on his head. For that, he was immensely grateful. However when he opened his eyes, a set of dark brown eyes were staring back, concern filling them. Jean noticed that the boy’s lips were moving, his body half hanging out of the window, his own senses muddled as he sat up with a groan, not registering a word the boy had said.

“Hah?” How eloquently put, really. He wanted to smack himself in the face but a small smile was forming on the soft lips belonging to the dark haired boy and now that he was really focusing, he could make out a faint smattering of freckles over his cheekbones. 

“Stay put, I’ll be right out.” His eyes followed the boy to where he disappeared, sitting rather awkwardly in the bushes until he reappeared, leaning over the brush with an extended hand. Jean stared at the hand for a moment before grabbing it, allowing himself to be pulled up. Damn, a boy like him shouldn’t be that cute. The thought brought a furious flush to his cheeks, his little heart making a momentous leap into his throat.

“ _Idiota_ , What were you doing up on the roof. Eh?” His brow furrowed at Freckle’s light hearted accusation, a hand falling to the back of his neck out of habit.

“I was uh… Clearing my head.” Didn’t really sound like a good excuse but boy, it wrung the prettiest laugh out of him, making him double over from laughter.

“ _Se despejó la cabeza bien._ Come inside, you must be dizzy.” Jean didn’t even try to pretend he understood a word of what was uttered, but he more than happily nodded, silently willing him to speak more. It sounded absolutely beautiful rolling off his tongue, no doubt that they were insults of some sort, but Freckles could have been calling him a shit headed donkey for all he cared. He followed without question, listening to the rapid exchange between him and his father. How long had he avoided this place? Knowing that such a treasure resided in these atrocious walls made the prospect of getting dragged to church more agreeable. Hell, Jean could most certainly find his faith in that nice ass in front of him. Maybe there were freckles there too. The thought almost made him drool, walking into the back of the freckled boy unintentionally. A sputtered apology was cut short by the chuckle of the literal angel in front of him. Holy shit, how was it even legal for a choir boy to be so cute?

“-got a first aid kit in here. Take a seat.” His attention snapped back to the present, nodding his head furiously. Not a good idea on Jean’s part though. He managed to aggravate his headache even more, wincing as he took a seat, the room seeming to spin around him. He closed his eyes, unaware of what was happening until he felt the cold sting of antiseptic on his arm. Jumping with a hiss, his amber eyes snapped open, arm wrenched out of the grip of the pretty boy. 

“I need to clean them, _manos por favor._ ” His expression morphed into that of an attempt at being stern, his hand extended towards Jean. Warily, he re-extended his arm, allowing him to continue applying the medicine,

“S-So….” Jean croaked, clearing his throat a few times, trying to swallow the annoying heat of embarrassment in his cheeks. “My name is Jean. I didn’t catch yours earlier.” He really had to bite his tongue to quit from tacking on a _pretty boy_ to the end of his comment, but even unspoken, the freckled boy before him seemed to smile almost knowingly.

“Marco.” His smile made Jean melt a bit, lowering his guard as the antiseptic burned through his scratches. Jean just about exploded from the exertion and self control it took to will the rapid fire of curses down, wanting to be at least decently respectful in front of Marco. Damn his beautiful laughter, damn his good looks, _damn him for sweet talking me_ , Jean thought vehemently, rather sore about being duped by a rather pretty face.

“You shouldn’t have been up there _tonto._ ” Yeah fuck, he was long gone. Even Marco’s _teasing_ was endearing. Long after Marco was finished patching him up, he swore he could still feel those warm fingertips tilting his chin to the side, the warm gentle breaths brushing his skin, the sweet sweet scent lingering in his mind like an aphrodisiac. The soft, “Be careful next time _tonto_ ” rang in his ears, long after he had parted with goodbyes and promises to visit again and to be more careful. Even as he lie awake, staring at the dreary ceiling of his room, all he could think about were the small constellations dotting his skin and how he very, very badly wanted to find out just how many there were. 

His parents were already making breakfast by the time he slunk downstairs, grabbing some toast. Jean briefly mentioned that he’d like to go to the next sermon down at the church before disappearing out the door, leaving behind a set of extremely confused parents, scorched eggs, and spilt coffee.

**Author's Note:**

> There's more to come, so please, comment, kudo and share!


End file.
